


Counting Stars

by tricksterity



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), The Amazing Spider-Man 2
Genre: Harry and Peter are totally boyfriends come on, M/M, Peter and Gwen actually break up well, so many gay vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 18:20:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1559681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tricksterity/pseuds/tricksterity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Parker's been in love with Harry Osborn for as long as he could remember, and how could he ever say no to saving his life?</p><p>Basically an AU of how TASM 2 should've gone if Peter wasn't a complete idiot and if Gwen didn't, y'know, get an extreme case of whiplash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counting Stars

**Author's Note:**

> So I literally spent all day writing this after I saw TASM 2. I could've easily made this into a Harry/Peter/Gwen ot3 but I just... there is no way these two couldn't have been boyfriends, seriously. I wanted this to be just about them, though Gwen is awesome and a great friend, the breakup goes well, and she and Harry frequently chat about their favourite way to get Peter hot and bothered.
> 
> So I hope you enjoy this, and... yeah.

* * *

 

_Lately I've been, I've been losing sleep / dreaming about the things that we could be / but baby I've been, I've been praying hard / said no more counting dollars we'll be counting stars_

_\- Counting Stars; One Republic_

 

Peter could’ve sworn that his heart stopped the moment that he heard the name _Harry Osborn_. He paused with fingers over his keyboard to look up at the news report, showing a blurry, grainy, most likely taken from a phone image of a vaguely familiar boy getting into a car. The image was black-and-white, and Peter wondered if Harry Osborn still had those cerulean eyes like small galaxies.

 

“Harry,” Peter breathed out, feeling equal parts elation and guilt.

 

Elation for the fact that his childhood best friend was back in the city, back where he _belonged_ , and overwhelming guilt. Peter remembered crying non-stop the day Harry had been taken away to boarding school halfway across the world, clutching him to his ten-year-old chest, getting Harry's expensive dress shirt soaked through with salt and tears.

 

They’d promised to keep in contact, but with new schools, new countries, opposite time zones and the distance it never really worked out, and their emails had dwindled to once a month, if one of them remembered, and eventually stopped altogether.

 

Peter still remembered sitting at his laptop for years after the emails had stopped, fingers on the keys, Harry’s email address typed into the subject bar. He’d never gotten any further than that, because what would he say? _You’re my best friend, you always will be, I’m sorry that this didn’t work out and I’m pretty sure that I’ve been in love with you since I was eight years old?_

 

That, of course, added a whole other layer of guilt when he thought about Gwen. He loved Gwen, god he did, she was smart, intelligent, thoughtful and beautiful ~~just like Harry was~~ and she was everything that Peter had ever asked for. Yet it felt strangely like he was betraying the ghost of a memory of Harry Osborn, who was on the covers of magazines with his arm around busty supermodels.

 

It didn’t stop Peter from slamming his laptop shut and gapping it out of the café as soon as the news report had ended and had moved on to the normal stuff. He hailed the first cab he saw and drummed his fingers on his legs the entire ride over to the Osborn mansion. He’d spent so much time there as a child he knew that he’d be able to navigate the many hallways and rooms that he’d chased a recalcitrant Harry through.

 

Peter knew that Harry had always looked up to his father, wanted his love and appreciation and acceptance that he’d never get, and Peter hated the older man for it. Even if he was dead, Peter wasn’t going to suddenly pretend like he was a great guy when all he’d ever done was look out for himself and never gave a single smile to his son who so desperately wanted to please his father.

 

“That’s $20.17, lad,” the cabbie said. Peter pulled some change out of his pocket, patting his coat down for some coins, wondering when it’d suddenly become so expensive to go just a few blocks. He pressed the money into the cabbie’s hand and pulled himself out of the cab, staring up at the huge mansion that had haunted his memories for years on end. He’d come here a few times after Harry had gone away, but the guards and servants just kicked him out, sending him sympathetic smiles that never reached their eyes and pitiful glances until he’d gotten the picture.

 

One of those guards was still standing outside, and smiled a little when Peter gave his name. He shuffled awkwardly around the lobby, thumbs slipped into his backpack straps, peering at all of the overly pretentious and ridiculously expensive decorations in the lobby. Just one of them could probably provide food, water and medicine to a small village for a year.

 

He barely picked up the soft footsteps of Harry Osborn, wondering when he’d been classified as a non-threat to his spider senses, and looked up at the face shrouded in shadow when he heard his name.

 

“Peter Parker,” Harry said quietly. “It’s like seeing a ghost.”

 

“Hey, Harry,” Peter replied with a smile, unable to believe that he was standing right before him; the boy, his best friend, his entire world at one point, standing in the flesh. He was in a suit that fitted him much better than they did when he was twelve, but Peter could barely make out his face. Peter knew that Harry must’ve been standing in the shadows for a reason, but wished that he could make eye contact, see if they were still as abnormally blue as he remembered them to be or if he’d just been making that up. _False memories_ , his brain provided, _alterations made to memory to seem just as real, usually created a long period of time after the memory has occurred._

 

“Random… it’s been ten years,” Harry noted.

 

“Eight, but close,” Peter corrected.

 

“What’s up?” Harry asked, voice distant. Peter took a few steps toward the stairs, gauging Harry’s reaction.

 

“I just… I saw the news, man. I heard about your dad, I just wanted to come and check and see how you were doing-“

 

“I’m in… I’m with some people, Peter. I’m in a meeting,” Harry interrupted quietly, an easy dismissal, and Peter stopped on the second step, looking up at the darkened face of Harry Osborn, and smiled tightly.

 

“Sorry, I don’t want to intrude,” Peter said. “It’s been a long time. I kinda know exactly what you’re going through right now, you were there for me when my parents-” Peter cut himself off, unable to finish the sentence. _Abandoned him? Left him? Died?_ “That’s why I’m here for you.”

 

“Thank you,” Harry said quietly.

 

“It’s good to see you man,” Peter said, descending the stairs. “It’s good to see you. Sorry about your dad.”

 

Resigning himself to the fact that the distance and time between them had killed anything that had once been there, Peter turned to leave. He had just placed his hand on the doorknob when a voice called out behind him, tone familiar.

 

“You got your braces off,” Harry teased. “There’s nothing to distract from your unibrow.” Peter laughed and turned to see Harry finally standing in the light, eyes a pale but piercingly bright cyan, and Peter felt an iron band slip off from around his heart.

 

“There he is!” Peter crowed happily. “Do you still blow-dry your hair every morning?” Harry Osborn let out a light, happy laugh that Peter hadn’t heard in years and never wanted to stop hearing, his entire face lighting up. He was exactly the same as Peter remembered, albeit taller and more self-confident, able to pair a suit jacket and tie with dark jeans and still look a million bucks.

 

“Uh, no I get one of my manservants holds the hair dryer,” Harry teased. “But I do get control of the comb, okay so at least I’m not completely helpless.” Peter laughed, remembering the first time Harry had slept over at his house and had asked him the next morning where the hair dryer was, sending young Peter into a fit of giggles.

 

Peter couldn’t help but jump up the stairs two at a time to draw Harry into a hug, it was so easy to just wrap his arms around the shorter man, pressing him to his chest like a ghostly imprint of eight years past, burying his face briefly into Harry’s hair, squeezing his eyelids shut and feeling the burn behind them. Harry hugged back just as tightly, fingers like claws in the back of his coat, like if he let go Peter would just disappear forever.

 

Peter pulled away but kept his hands on Harry’s shoulders, memorizing the shape of his face, his features, that stupid hipster haircut and those eyes that shone suspiciously.

 

“So… d’you wanna go back to your boring meeting or d’you wanna get out of here?” Peter asked with a cheeky grin, and it was reflected back onto Harry’s face as he pulled out a ridiculous pair of even more hipster sunglasses from his pocket and put them on.

 

“Felicia’s got them under control,” Harry said, before he grabbed Peter’s arm and dragged him out of the front door. Peter felt lighter than he had in years, like all of the worldly burdens on his shoulders had been alleviated just with the presence of his best friend.

 

It was easy for Peter to sling his arm over Harry’s shoulders and drag the shorter man to his side, laughing at the stories of the boarding school that Harry recounted, how he’d been sent scotch for his sixteenth birthday which now seemed hilarious in retrospect. They spent hours just milling about, wandering wherever their feet took them, enjoying the warm sun on their faces. Harry did resemble a pasty English kid, but he hadn’t lost his accent at all, much too proud to give in to the whims of others.

 

Peter noticed that they were following the footsteps of their past selves, around the harbor and the merry-go-round that Peter had begged Harry to go on as a child before getting sick. Hours passed of easy conversation, like no time had passed at all. Peter slid down a hand railing and Harry followed, remembering all the times that they’d tried it when they were younger but they’d been too short to do so.

 

“You got a lady?” Harry asked as Peter leaned back against the harbor railing, and Peter gave a self-deprecating smile and huffed.

 

“That’s the question,” Peter said, climbing over the railing awkwardly to hang off the other side, to feel the ocean wind pass across him, feeling like he could fall at any moment. He’d come to like free-fall.

 

“No, I don’t,” Peter finally said. “Well… kinda,” he backtracked. “I don’t know. We’ve broken up now but it wouldn’t be the first time. It’s, uh… it’s complicated.”

 

“I don’t do complicated,” Harry said, and Peter leaned his arms on the railing. It would be so easy, so _uncomplicated_ to just pull Harry to him and press their lips together. “What’s her name? What’s she like?”

 

“Her name’s Gwen,” Peter said. “Gwen Stacy. She uh, she actually works for you.”

 

“She works for me?” Harry asked with a smile.

 

“Yeah, she works at Oscorp, she does work study there,” Peter said with a grin. “I always did like the smart ones.”

 

“I don’t know anybody smarter than you, Peter,” Harry said. “Even at that pretentious boarding school where everybody was a legacy, nobody came even close to you. Well, except me of course.” Peter let out a shocked laugh.

 

“Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be?” Peter teased.

 

“That’s how it’s gonna be,” Harry drawled, and Peter tipped his head back and laughed. Then he let go of the railing and dropped down, landing on soft sand, bending his knees to absorb the impact. He looked up to see Harry leaning on the railing, looking down with a smirk and quite probably an eye-roll under those ridiculous sunglasses.

 

“Well?” Peter asked, gesturing his hands out. “Or is Harry Osborn too pretentious to get his Armani suit dirty?”

 

“It’s Prada, asshole,” Harry replied. He hooked himself over the railing and jumped down without hesitation, stumbling just half a step on the landing. “That was a lot easier than I remember.”

 

“Really? Because it’s like you haven’t aged a day,” Peter teased, the sixth short joke he’d made in just a few hours, and then gapped it down the beach as Harry swore and hunted him down.

 

Harry finally caught up to him and launched himself onto Peter’s back. He took his weight easily and hooked his hands under Harry’s thighs, whooping as they stumbled across the loose sand, pretending to trip over more than once just to feel Harry’s arms tighten instinctively around his neck. He finally settled Harry down onto a large rock, nearly dumping him off as the older boy just laughed, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe what was happening. Peter pulled off his backpack and coat, saw Harry shrugging off his own jacket, leaving it in a messy pile on top of Peter’s, rolling his shirtsleeves up.

 

Peter quietly admitted to himself that Harry actually looked pretty good in a trust fund hipster kid way, with his goddamn _Prada_ suit jacket and waistcoat but his rolled up dark jeans and boots. He finally took those ridiculous sunglasses off and placed them on top of the pile of clothing, picking up a flat rock to skim across the surface of the harbor.

 

Peter picked one up too, flipped it a few times in his hand, and then threw the rock. It didn’t go too far, maybe bounced twice, he was incredibly out of practice. Harry laughed at him and skimmed his own, bouncing four and a half times before sinking out of sight. The day was warm and lazy, and Peter had almost tuned out of the world when Harry spoke.

 

“You know when my father sent me away I tried to forget everything about this place,” Harry admitted. “I guess that kind of included you.”

 

“You ain’t got to explain anything to me, man,” Peter said after a few moments. He remembered when he’d first tried to forget Harry Osborn, after he’d been banned from coming back to the Osborn Mansion, after he’d cried himself to sleep for weeks on end, when he’d shoved every polaroid of them into his bottom drawer and pretended like Harry Osborn didn’t exist. “We both got dumped.”

 

“You ever figure out why your parents bailed?” Harry asked, and Peter flicked his wrist a bit too hard, the rock sinking straight into the river.

 

“My dad left a briefcase,” Peter said, flipping a rock in his hand idly. “That’s all I got, a briefcase full of junk. Whatever, I don’t know, I try not to think about it.”

 

“How’s that working out for you?” Harry asked, eyebrows raised as though he already knew the answer, and he probably did.

 

“Perfectly,” Peter replied, spitting the words out, flicking his arm as the rock skimmed the surface at least eight times before sinking. Harry looked on a little gob smacked.

 

“Nice arm,” Harry complimented.

 

“It’s all in the wrist buddy, you could do it too if you just strengthen up that-“

 

“Yeah right,” Harry laughed, interrupting Peter’s perfect innuendo. Peter gave him a little wink, and Harry rolled his eyes and skimmed another stone, rolling up his sleeves that threatened to fall past the crook of his elbow.

 

“You’ve got to admit though, things have gotten weird around here, giant lizards and spider guys,” Harry said, and Peter felt his stomach drop out from underneath him like he was on a roller coaster. The one subject he didn’t want Harry to bring up.

 

“Just one guy,” Peter said, crouching down. “One spider man, or woman, we don’t know for sure,” he said, carefully keeping his answer neutral.

 

“Whatever dude, he wears spandex to rescue kittens from trees, I’m _so_ impressed,” Harry said, voice heavy with sarcasm.

 

“I kinda like to think he gives people hope,” Peter said, feeling the need to defend his alter ego, to bring Harry around to the side of Spider-Man. He was used to the hate and scrutiny of the public, before and still after the whole Curt Connors incident, but it was strange hearing it from his best friend.

 

“For what?” Harry asked, pausing and looking down to where Peter was sitting.

 

“That… maybe eventually everything’s gonna be alright,” Peter said. Maybe eventually he and Gwen could sort something out that wasn’t whatever they had right now. Maybe Aunt May would find a way to sleep that wasn’t crying herself there. Maybe Peter could stop being haunted by a briefcase in his closet. Maybe he’d stop seeing Captain Stacy everywhere.

 

“Yeah, just wish I had the time for eventually,” Harry quipped, an emotion hidden in the back of his voice, and Peter looked up at Harry, searching his friend’s face as he slung another rock across the surface of the bay. Peter sighed at Harry’s carefully closed off expression and stood up, dropping the handful of skimming stones he had to the sand. He pulled on his camera strap and looked through the lens, snapping a picture of Harry’s skimming stone in motion.

 

He then whirled around and took a candid of Harry before he even knew that Peter was doing, and the older boy looked shocked for a second before he laughed, and Peter snapped another. Eventually Harry held his hand out to block his face from the lens, and Peter laughed and lowered his camera, letting it hang to his side.

 

“C’mon, Pete, I get enough of that from the paparazzi,” Harry protested softly.

 

“Yeah, but they don’t know the _real_ Harry Osborn, do they?” Peter replied, shrugging on his coat as the temperature dropped slightly. He slung his backpack on and handed Harry his stupid sunglasses and his expensive Prada jacket that was now slightly wrinkled and covered in fine granules of sand.

 

“And who would the _real_ Harry Osborn be?” Harry challenged, rolling his sleeves down so he could put his jacket on without the sleeves getting all annoyingly bunched up around his biceps.

 

“The annoying little pretentious prat who likes to build blanket forts and make milkshakes at 3a.m.,” Peter said lightly as Harry took the jacket from his outstretched hand. “The guy who hates PB&J sandwiches, who despises ABBA with a burning passion, who’s role model as a kid used to be Justin Timberlake to the point that he tried to steal a bottle of bleach to get that shitty ramen hair,” Peter said, watching Harry’s face screw up in a half-smile half-grimace at all of the embarrassing memories.

 

“The guy who is scarily intelligent, a mathematical and technological genius,” Peter continued as Harry did up his suit buttons. “The guy who still uses the email address _osborn-to-be-a-king@hotmail.com_ -“ Harry cut him off by laughing and slapping a hand over Peter’s mouth, the hand slightly shaking from his laughter.

 

“You’re letting all my secrets out, Peter,” Harry stage whispered, and Peter smiled from underneath his palm. Peter took a step closer and gently grabbed Harry’s wrist, pulling it away from his mouth with a cheeky grin. It was so easy to grab Harry’s waist with his other hand and press their lips together, to draw him in closer and kiss him like he had for that first time with Gwen, except there was no guilt or fear or awkwardness.

 

Peter pulled away after a few seconds to lean his forehead against Harry’s and whispered, “The guy who I have been wanting to do that to since I was about nine.”

 

“You wanted to kiss me when you were nine?” Harry mumbled back, eyes shut but with his lips turned up a little at the corners.

 

“Maybe a little bit more chase than that,” Peter replied with a little huffed laugh.

 

“I don’t think you can get any more chaste than that, Parker,” Harry teased, opening those azure eyes to peer at Peter through his lashes, a look that made a low burn start in Peter’s gut as his stomach flopped over and his heart stuttered for a moment.

 

“That a challenge, Osborn?” Peter murmured, raising an eyebrow, dragging his fingers along Harry’s hip.

 

“Maybe,” Harry teased, and Peter leaned forward just enough to brush his lips over Harry’s; the slightest, most barely-there contact he could muster, gone within a second, before either of them could really process it. Harry rolled his eyes and leaned up, the hand not in Peter’s grip coming up to cup the side of his face, running his thumb along Peter’s jaw as their lips moved together, opening up to deepen the kiss. Peter pulled back with Harry’s bottom lip between his teeth, a smirk on his face.

 

“Well that wasn’t very chaste of you, Mr. Osborn,” Peter teased, and Harry laughed, tipping his head back slightly.

 

“I think we’re a little too old for that, Peter,” Harry replied.

 

“Nah, you can never be too old for anything,” Peter said optimistically. “Except, maybe, peeing your pants.” Harry laughed loud and clear, and Peter couldn’t help smile at Harry’s happiness. All he wanted to do for the rest of his life was make Harry Osborn’s life a better place, god knows he’d already been through enough shit. Born to a rich, prestigious family and had anything he wanted at his fingertips, yet he had everything and nothing.

 

“C’mon you dork, I want to get some of that gelato before I have to go back and suffer my way through meetings with pretentious old lawyers who think I’m not good enough,” Harry said, wrapping his arm around Peter’s and dragging him off to the pier. Peter stumbled behind him, feeling lighter than he had in years, like the world had suddenly righted itself. The heavy iron ball of guilt that had sat in his stomach for years had disappeared, and remained gone after Harry had reluctantly gone back home and Peter went to see Gwen, able to be just friends.

 

Then it came back when he saw Max in the square, glowing and electric and terrified and angry, being shot at, going out of control, watching him be subdued and taken away.

 

It turned molted hot and burning when he got home and saw his father’s briefcase in the closet, lit up like a spotlight had chosen to wave it in front of his face like the universe hated him; his fried web-shooters and a pile of polaroids scattered at the bottom of a drawer. In a frenzy he grabbed the briefcase and emptied it, old pictures, newspaper articles tucked away, and in a blur he was taping and gluing and pinning a web of confusion to his wall, interspersed with pictures of Gwen and Harry, his parents, whatever the hell Roosevelt was, Curt Connors and Norman Osborn, no answers emerging.

 

Frustrated, he slammed the door behind him, taking his webshooters with him to the small science shed Uncle Ben had helped him build years back for his ridiculous experiments. He had more pressing things to worry about right now – namely how he could face Max again without his webshooters getting destroyed. He didn’t realize that he’d fallen asleep in his little ceiling cubbyhole until his phone began to ring, loud and piercing in his heightened sense of hearing.

 

After soundly smacking himself in the face with a metal bar, he finally got his phone to his ear, not even checking to see who it was.

 

“ _Peter, it’s me_ ,” a familiar voice said.

 

“Hey Harry, what time is it?” Peter mumbled, squinting his eyes from the light.

 

“ _Late? Early? I don’t know, I’ve been up all night_ ,” Harry said, sounding bone-tired and incredibly exhausted. “ _I need to see you_.” Peter frowned deeply, knowing that Harry never asked for anything directly unless he was desperate, not even of Peter.

 

“Are you alright?” Peter asked.

 

“ _Not really, Pete_ ,” Harry said quietly. “ _I’m dying, but I think you can help save my life_.” Peter felt his entire world flip upside down as that admission came through the phone line quietly, like he’d just misheard Harry and his best friend-boyfriend-whatever wasn’t dying and he was just too tired to properly understand what was being said.

 

“I- what?” Peter stuttered.

 

“ _Meet me at Oscorp, please_ ,” Harry pleaded, and then hung up. Peter dropped to the floor in a daze. Harry Osborn never asked for help, and he certainly never asked nicely. His best friend was dying. Peter didn’t even pause to consider taking a cab or Aunt May’s car, he pulled on his webshooter bands and was out the window in seconds.

 

He arrived at Oscorp within ten minutes, and Harry had already called ahead to let reception know that he was welcome into his private office. When the elevator door opened, he saw Harry standing by his desk, staring down into the depths of his whiskey, the glass trembling in his hand, unable to stop the tremors.

 

Harry was pale, dark bags under his eyes and it was clear he hadn’t had any sleep, but his hands shouldn’t have been shaking like that, not unless something was incredibly wrong.

 

“Harry?” Peter asked softly, and the boy in question shot his head up to look at Peter like a startled animal, nearly dropping his glass. He gave Peter a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes, just a turn up of his lips and nothing more. Peter crossed the room slowly like Harry was a scared animal and grabbed the glass, steadying it though the tremors could still be shown in Harry’s hand and the rippling of the liquor.

 

“What’s going on, Harry?” he asked gently. Harry jerked his hand away and placed the glass on the desk a little harder than he should have, the sound echoing throughout the room. Harry simply grabbed Peter’s hand and led him into a smaller room off to the side where a video file was waiting to play. Harry almost fell into his chair before he pressed play.

 

Peter held his breath, felt like he could barely breathe as the video played the familiar image of his father on the screen, next to Norman Osborn himself. What’s more, he was talking about the spiders – the very same ones that bit him, that turned him into Spider-Man, that changed his life. What were the odds?

 

Harry paused the video by touching the table and dragging the file back towards him, and Peter wondered if his own hands were shaking.

 

“Retroviral hyperplasia,” Harry said quietly. “The Osborn Curse. The tremors started just under three months ago.” Peter felt his heart sink and looked at Harry, who was staring somewhere off into the distance.

 

“Our fathers both worked together to find a cure for it. Fourteen years and nothing to show for it, they never made it to human trials. Nothing to show… except maybe this,” Harry said, slapping a newspaper down onto the table. Peter immediately recognized the image – one of the photos he’d sent to the Daily Bugle of Spider-man.

 

“Spider-Man,” Harry said, like all of his problems had been solved.

 

“What about him?” Peter asked, hoping desperately that this wasn’t going where he thought it was.

 

“He was bitten by one of those things and it worked!” Harry exclaimed, pointing to the paused video file. “I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but he can do everything a spider can do. Including self-heal.” Peter couldn’t help but stare at Harry, hoping to god he wasn’t about to say what he thought he was, but he also knew that it was probably the only solution to his sickness.

 

“I need to find him… I need his blood,” Harry said with finality.

 

“You need Spider-Man’s… blood?” Peter stuttered, sitting down, his mind tearing itself in two opposite directions like an unwinnable game of tug-of-war.

 

“It can save my life,” Harry said accusingly, staring down at Peter with a look he’d never seen before and never wanted to see again.

 

“It may not, Harry,” Peter warned gently. “It may not be that simple, you saw what happened to Curt Connors, right?” Peter couldn’t risk anything like that happening to his best friend, didn’t want to kill him, didn’t want to turn him into a monster but he couldn’t let him die a slow, horrible death like this father, obsessed with finding a cure to the point that he neglected his own son.

 

“Connors was weak, this is _me_ , Peter,” Harry pleaded.

 

“It’s not… it’s not about whether you’re weak or not, Harry, that has nothing to do with it,” Peter said, not breaking eye contact with him. “It’s about genetics, it’s about DNA compatibility, there’s a reason this only worked on one guy, it’s a one in a billion chance that it didn’t kill him or worse.”

 

“And you’d know that, wouldn’t you?” Harry said, accusing once again. Peter raised an eyebrow, and Harry stabbed a finger down at the caption of the Spider-Man image that read _photograph taken by Peter Parker_.

 

“Harry, I don’t know him,” Peter said. “I- I used a long lens, I was far away, I don’t know him,” he said desperately.

 

“I put together what you said at the river,” Harry said, quiet and dangerous. “About how he gives people hope. Come on, Peter, this is my life we’re talking about.” Peter stood up, needing air, needing time to think, needing to do anything but stay in this tiny room while his best friend begged him to help save his life, the boy he’d been in love with for years but he _couldn’t_ let him know. He couldn’t tell Harry because then he’d be in danger just like Gwen was and if he died on his watch Peter wouldn’t be able to handle seeing his ghost everywhere.

 

He just… he needed time to think, he needed a course of action.

 

Peter turned to flee as fast as he could when he felt a hand on his arm, whirling him around and then hands cupped his jaw and lips were on his, a desperate kiss that tasted of salt and tears. Peter opened his lips and let Harry in, gripping him by the waist as Harry pressed into him like he was trying to become him, like any molecule of space between them was too much. Harry finally pulled away when both of them were left panting, and Harry buried his face into Peter’s neck.

 

“Please, Peter,” he begged.

 

“I never said no, Harry,” Peter said gently, burying his face in Harry’s hair. “But this is dangerous, much more so than you could ever imagine. I worked with Doctor Connors, I saw what happened to him, probably the same thing that happened to that electric guy last night, and I can’t have that happen to you,” Peter said, feeling his voice shake and his throat close up.

 

“I’m already dying,” Harry said hopelessly.

 

“And I won’t be the one who kills you,” Peter said, desperation thick in his voice. He thread his fingers through Harry’s hair and gently pulled him away so he could rest their foreheads together.

 

“If I’m going to get you his blood,” Peter began, licking his lips to stall the inevitable for precious seconds, tightening his grip on Harry’s hip, “we need to make sure that it’s not going to kill you, or mutate you into something that isn’t Harry Osborn. We’re geniuses, you own the largest experimental science company in the entire world, and there’s nothing we can’t do if we don’t put our heads together. But I won’t risk killing you.”

 

Harry’s face lit up with joy that Peter hadn’t seen since they were children, since before the world had fucked them over and the people they loved had died and before they’d been separated for what seemed like forever. The energy seemed to get sucked out of Harry with his relief and he fell onto Peter, who was glad he had superhuman strength to keep both of them standing.

 

“C’mon, Harry, you need some sleep and I need to brainstorm,” Peter murmured, smiling at the softness of Harry’s features now that he was practically asleep on his feet. He half-dragged Harry out of the small room into his office, laying him gently onto the huge leather couch, draping the decorative afghan over him.

 

Peter crouched down next to Harry and ran his fingers through his hair, watching Harry breathe out slowly, the constant tremors dying down into small increments of twitching.

 

“I’m gonna save you Harry, we’re _both_ going to save you. We’re going to do what our fathers couldn’t, and I’m not going to let you die. I just need some time to figure this out, okay?” Peter asked. Harry nodded vaguely, and Peter pressed a quick, barely-there kiss to his lips.

 

“I love you, Harry Osborn, and I’m not giving up on you,” Peter confessed, before he swept out of the room.

 

It wasn’t until he hit the elevator button and the doors shut that he realized that he’d just admitted to _Harry fucking Osborn_ that he was in love with him. Jesus, he’d only been back two days, what the hell was he thinking? Peter had begun to worry his bottom lip extensively with his teeth when he felt a tingle in his mind and he immediately stopped the elevator, getting out at the current floor, and began to walk. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to find until he caught Gwen, who immediately dragged him into a maintenance closet.

 

“You’re in trouble,” Peter teased as the security guards headed away from their closet.

 

“Yeah,” Gwen said, slightly breathless. “There was an accident in the genomics lab and they’re trying to cover it up. I found out that guy from Times Square last night, I met him. He was an electrical engineer in the building and he loved Spider-Man, like a fanatic.”

 

“I didn’t get a love vibe last night,” Peter argued. “I got more of a wants-to-kill-me-with-his-electricity vibe.” Gwen laughed and rolled her eyes.

 

“I searched for him in the computer, all of his files were erased, they’re trying to cover it up,” she said, paranoidly peering out through the gaps in the door.

 

“That’s Oscorp,” Peter sighed, stretching his hearing out to see if he could tell where the guards were.

 

“What about you, why’re you here?” Gwen asked.

 

“Harry,” was all Peter said.

 

“Osborn?” Gwen asked, a little shocked.

 

“He’s… he’s dying,” Peter said, voice shaking as he admitted it. “He thinks the only thing that can save him is Spider-Man’s blood, _my_ blood, and I’m inclined to agree, but as far as I know if I give it to him I could kill him.”

 

“Or something worse,” Gwen agreed.

 

“But I can’t… I can’t let him die Gwen, I won’t. He’s my best friend and I only just got him back, and if I don’t figure this out then he’s just going to go out and do something incredibly stupid, like he always does,” Peter sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, remembering all the dumb shit Harry Osborn had gotten up to as a kid when he’d been told no.

 

“What’re you gonna do?” Gwen asked.

 

“I… I don’t know,” Peter said. “This isn’t the best place to be having this conversation. I’ll distract the guards and you can get out, I’ll meet you at mine, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Gwen said, a mischievous grin on her face. The two exited the closet, and Peter pulled a few truly amazing, seemingly-clumsy stunts in order to get Gwen out of the hallway and into the elevator, and grinned as he jogged down the hallway to find another set of elevators that weren’t around pissed-off guards.

 

He made it home in record time and noticed that Aunt May wasn’t back yet. At least, he didn’t think so until he burst into his bedroom to see her sitting on his bed, staring at the mess of a mind map on his wall, red tape connecting everything in a confusing jumble.

 

“When did you do this?” she asked. Peter looked between her and the mind-map and suddenly knew that the gaps in his knowledge that would help fill in how everything was connected... Aunt May knew those gaps.

 

“There’s something you aren’t telling me Aunt May,” Peter said, and her face fell. “Every time I mention my parents your eyes go down, I know that you’re not telling me something. You lie to me, I know you love me, but you do.” He kneeled down in front of her, begging her. He needed to figure out why his parents left, why they'd abandoned him. He needed to figure out how his father's research with the spiders was connected to him, to Mr. Osborn, and how unlocking the mystery of his parents' disappearance would save Harry. Aunt May knew, but she was too protective of him to tell, especially since Ben had died.

 

“You have to tell me, Aunt May. That’s my father,” he begged.

 

“Yes, he was your father, but that didn’t seem to stop him from leaving you here,” she snapped, angry until she didn’t have the energy to stay angry.

 

“I need you to tell me the truth Aunt May,” he pleaded.

 

“The truth is your parents left you here on our doorstep, and you were this little boy whose whole world was turned upside-down with no explanation!" she suddenly exploded. "We did the best we could, your Uncle Ben and I, I mean who else was going to protect you and worry about you? Your father? No, _I_ was the one who wiped your nose and made you brush your teeth and do your homework and washed your dirty underwear, _me_. Your stupid, _non_ -scientific aunt, and you’re dreaming about your father who was never here? _No_ , as far as I’m concerned, you’re _my_ boy, and I won’t hurt you,” she exclaimed, eyes tearing up as Peter’s own vision blurred.

 

Peter kneeled down in front of her and took her hands gently, blinking away the tears in his own eyes.

 

“I’m your boy, you’re my everything, and you’re enough,” Peter reassured. “You’re _more_ than enough but that’s not what this is about. Don’t get that twisted, I love you so much. But I need to know what happened to my parents, I need to know about his research, I need to know so I can save Harry.”

 

“Osborn?” May asked.

 

“He’s got the same thing as his dad and my father’s research could unlock a cure for him,” Peter said. “I need to know what he was working on so I can save Harry’s life, because he’s dying and I- _I love him_ , Aunt May,” Peter admitted, leaning his forehead against hers.

 

“Oh, Peter,” she whispered, running a hand through his hair. “Okay.” Ten minutes later, Gwen showed up on the doorstep, and she had nearly the same reaction as Aunt May when she saw the mess stuck onto Peter’s wall.

 

“What did you want to talk about?” Gwen asked, and Peter sunk down onto his bed.

 

“Harry Osborn,” Peter said. “He can be saved, seeing as I’m exhibit number one, but I need to find my father’s research to save him. My blood won’t save him, there’s a one in a billion chance as to why it worked on me and that is no coincidence that my father just happened to be working on the spiders that turned me into this.”

 

“You don’t know where the research is though,” Gwen said.

 

“Hence the… whatever it is,” Peter said, waving his hand at his wall. Gwen looked at the wall for a few minutes, studying it, traversing the tape and the clues, figuring out Peter’s thought processes, one of the only people he knew who was smart enough to pick out the hidden information in the recesses of his jumbled mind.

 

“There’s more to this, though,” Gwen said. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

 

Peter sighed and banged his head against his bedroom wall, elbows resting on his bent knees, brain humming but his throat had closed up and he didn’t know how to get his words out. Gwen sat next to him and gently took his hand, prompting him silently, letting him take as much time as he needed.

 

“Just friends, right?” Peter asked, and Gwen nodded. “Are you sure about that?”

 

“I’m positive, Peter. I love you, and I care for you and I know that you care about me too, but we both know that it’s not going to work if the number of break-ups we’ve had signify anything,” Gwen said with a sad grin. Peter gave her a weak smile and then sighed, gently banging his head against the wall repeatedly.

 

“I’m in love with Harry Osborn,” he blurted out. His eyes were shut, and there was silence, Gwen’s hands were still on his and he couldn’t hear anything but the beating of his own heart and her soft breathing.

 

“I will say that is the last thing I expected to hear,” Gwen admitted quietly. “But I can’t fault you for it.”

 

“You’re not mad?” Peter asked, opening his eyes to see Gwen’s reaction.

 

“Of course not, Peter, you can’t help who you love,” she said. “I’m a little sad that this couldn’t work out, but maybe it’s for the better. You know, I might be going to Oxford, I have my last interview tomorrow, and maybe a bit of time apart will help.”

 

“I…” Peter muttered, and then exhaled loudly. “I love you, and I don’t think I can ever stop loving you. But… I’ve always loved Harry. And now I have the chance to save him, and you can go and follow your dreams, and I don’t have to worry about your father haunting my every step.”

 

“It’s okay,” Gwen said, smiling even as her eyes shone suspiciously. “I mean it kinda sucks, but I was the one who broke up with you and said that we should be friends, so I can’t get mad at you. And if he makes you happy, then I’m happy.”

 

“So… super gross-slash-adorable best friends?” Peter asked.

 

“Super gross-slash-adorable best friends,” Gwen confirmed with a nod of her head. She then laughed and wrapped her arms around Peter, who thought he heard a suspiciously muffled sob, but didn’t say anything about it.

 

“What are you going to tell Harry?” she asked when she pulled back.

 

“I… I don’t know, Gwen. I’ve got no idea what to do. I only know that I have to save him,” Peter said.

 

“Well even if you don’t tell him that you’re Spider-Man, he’s going to figure it out when he analyzes your blood,” Gwen said. “That is if he analyzes it and doesn’t just straight up attempt a blood transfusion.”

 

“Wouldn’t work anyway,” Peter sighed. “If you get into Oxford, when will you leave?” Gwen blinked for a few moments at the abrupt change of topic in the conversation.

 

“Probably in a month unless there are any summer programs I want to do. Why?” she asked.

 

“Because three heads are better than one,” Peter said, “and you know Oscorp’s labs better than us.”

 

“You’d… you’d let me do that?” Gwen asked.

 

“If you wanted to, yeah,” Peter said with a dorky smile. “You’re Midtown’s best, remember? I was only second, Miss Valedictorian.”

 

“Damn right you were only second,” she teased. “Look, I’ll help you as best as I can, but you need your father’s research to do that. So either you go and tell Harry now, or we figure this mystery out first and then tell him. What’s it gonna be?”

 

“Research,” Peter said straight away, remembering the heavy sarcasm in Harry’s voice when they’d had that conversation about Spider-Man at the harbor. Peter Parker was the king of procrastination when he wanted to be, and how better to stall than to solve the apparently unsolvable mystery of his parents’ research?

 

“Okay then,” Gwen said with a smile like she knew exactly what Peter was doing but knew she wouldn’t be able to talk him out of it. She got off his bed and stood in front of the mind map on the wall, scrutinizing every detail.

 

“What’s Roosevelt?” she asked, touching the Oscorp watermarked paper.

 

“No idea,” Peter admitted, heaving himself off the bed. “Just one part of the pile of junk dad left in his briefcase. The only research-related thing he had was the decay rate algorithm, but clearly we’ve already established that it’s a no-go zone – exhibit number one, Curt Connors.”

 

“What else was in that briefcase?” Gwen asked. Peter grabbed the suitcase and unpacked the things inside – scissors, a calculator, pens, an Oscorp ID badge – all junk.

 

“Your father was an intelligent man, and he left this briefcase for a reason. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to take it with him, which means there’s got to be _something_ here, we just have to figure out what it is,” Gwen said, brain turned on and eyes bright with the promise of a challenge. Peter loved when she got like this, it was what interested him in her in the first place.

 

“I already checked for more secret compartments in the briefcase, but the false back where the folder was is the only one,” Peter said, eyes scouring over each object like something was gonna jump out at him. Gwen held up everything individually, scrutinizing them for something possibly carved into them, tried to pick a false backing off the Oscorp ID card with no results. It wasn’t until she picked up the calculator that she frowned.

 

“This is a little heavy, isn’t it?” she asked curiously.

 

“It’s an old calculator,” Peter dismissed. “I doubt he left any secret messages on his equation history.”

 

“But he could’ve left another secret compartment,” she said. “Do you have a screwdriver?”

 

“No, but I could break it open,” Peter said. She passed him the calculator and he broke the back off, golden coins flying out and onto the ground, rolling under his desk and onto his bed. Peter’s eyes widened at the sheer number of them that had been hidden inside the calculator, he always thought that the battery died and it didn’t work but all of the circuitry had been taken out to make way for this coin collection.

 

“What are these?” Gwen asked. Peter peered at a coin, and then something that Aunt May had said the other day popped into the forefront of his brain like someone had shouted it at him with a microphone. Peter grabbed his laptop and one quick Google search later he couldn’t believe his eyes – the abandoned Roosevelt line on the D-Train.

 

“Roosevelt station,” Peter said, shocked that they’d managed to solve the mystery. “Aunt May said that he took the D-Train home every night, he must’ve stopped by wherever he was safekeeping his research. There might be a locker or room where he kept all of it.”

 

“We have to check it out!” Gwen said, cheeks flushed with excitement.

 

“We can’t tonight, the lines are crawling with guards who make sure that people aren’t sleeping there, we’ll have to go tomorrow,” Peter said, unable to believe what they’d found. Peter was just about to pick up his phone and call Harry when speak of the devil, his phone rang with Harry’s number blazoned across the screen.

 

“Hey Harry,” Peter said with a grin, still mostly in a state of shock.

 

“ _Hey Pete, sorry to kind of… collapse on you today, that was a little embarrassing_ ,” Harry admitted, and Peter laughed.

 

“It’s okay, you looked like you needed a decent amount of sleep anyway,” Peter replied.

 

“ _What are you trying to say, Parker?_ ” Harry teased, and Peter laughed.

 

“C’mon man, I’m just saying that you looked tired ‘s all,” Peter defended with a grin. “Anyway, good news, Gwen and I’ve been doing some digging and I think we found where my father hid his research, or at least some of it, so we’re going over tomorrow to check it out.”

 

“ _…Gwen Stacy?_ ” Harry asked quietly, and Peter groaned.

 

“Harry, Gwen and I sorted everything out. We’re on the path to friendship now,” Peter said, giving a pitiful look at Gwen that just screamed help me. Gwen took pity on him and leaned over so she could speak into the phone.

 

“It’s okay, Harry, he’s all yours,” Gwen said with a grin, and Peter heard a small chuckle on the end of the line.

 

“ _Okay, sorry, call me paranoid,_ ” Harry huffed. “ _That’s good about the research. I… thanks, Peter. I honestly didn’t know if you were going to help me or not, I realize that’s pretty dumb, but thank you. I trust you, and if anyone can figure this out it’s going to be you, Pete_.”

 

“It’s going to be _us_ , Harry,” Peter said stubbornly. “You, me and Gwen, we put our heads together, we’re going to come up with the best goddamn cure the world has ever seen. There is no way you’re dying on my watch, you got that? You’re my best friend and I ain’t gonna let anything happen to you.”

 

“ _You always did believe the best in people_ ,” Harry said, a little self-mockingly. “ _I don’t deserve you_.”

 

“I’m sorry, is the great and pretentious Harry Osborn feeling a little self-conscious?” Peter teased. “That’s the first I’ve ever heard of that, call the press, tomorrow’s headline: where has Harry Osborn’s ego gone? CNN reports at eleven,” he mocked, and Harry groaned.

 

“ _You’re an ass, Peter,_ ” he insulted.

 

“That’s much better,” Peter said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Don’t do anything stupid.”

 

“ _Okay, Peter, thanks. Oh, and by the way…_ ” Harry trailed off just as Peter was about to hang up.

 

“Yeah?” Peter asked.

 

“ _I love you too_ ,” Harry admitted, and then hung up. Peter listened to the dial tone with an open jaw, knowing that one Harry Osborn would be smirking to himself right now, probably drinking some scotch that was more expensive than Aunt May’s car.

 

“Peter?” Gwen said, waving her hand in front of his eyes, a shit-eating grin plastered onto her face. “You’re gonna swallow a fly.” Peter dropped his phone to the floor and stared at Gwen in a daze, the day’s events catching up with him and all of a sudden he felt incredibly exhausted. Gwen helped him get onto his bed without tripping over everything, and dragged the quilt over him.

 

“I’ll be back in the morning to go on our expedition, but I have my Oxford interview at two, so we have to be back before then, okay?” Gwen asked, but Peter was already halfway asleep. She ran a hand through his hair and set his phone on the bedside table, and then presumably let herself out of the house, but Peter had already fallen asleep.

 

*

 

Peter abruptly flew out of slumber with a piercing, incredibly annoying alarm that Gwen had set for him the night before. Peter dropped back down from the ceiling to his bed, groaning and resisting the urge to shatter his phone, the screen letting him know that it was eight a.m.

 

“Peter! Gwen is at the door!” Aunt May yelled from downstairs. Peter groaned and rolled over, falling onto the floor with a loud thump as a response. He heard Gwen’s laugh from downstairs – not the fake annoying one, but the adorable one that he’d banned her from using. He pulled on some clothes that weren’t too dirty or terrible, grabbed some of the coins from the floor and his suit, keeping his webshooters on bands around his wrists like always. He nearly fell down the stairs not even a minute later, wishing that he had the ability to roll down stairs and not get hurt.

 

“Morning, sunshine!” Gwen said, all perky and much too happy for the hour. Peter pointed an accusing finger at her, but his brain was still too much jelly for him to come up with an insult or a threat.

 

“Make sure he gets breakfast, will you Gwen?” May said as the two stumbled out onto the porch, and Gwen smiled back at her with a promise. They stopped for a coffee and bagel at a small stand on the way to the subway, heading down to the nearest stop by the abandoned Roosevelt line.

 

Peter would’ve objected to bringing Gwen with him if he didn’t have the ability to tell when a train was coming with about four different senses, and felt okay when they slipped off the platform and headed down the darkened tracks. Peter could see perfectly but Gwen had prepared for their spelunking expedition and pulled out a little flashlight.

 

“What d’you think we’ll find down here?” Gwen asked quietly, voice echoing throughout the tunnel.

 

“No idea,” Peter said. “Optimistically? A few folders of research, hopefully some answers to why they left. Realistically? Nothing much, maybe just the first waypoint in some crazy set of clues designed to make sure nobody got to the research unless they _really_ wanted to. I don’t know,” Peter sighed.

 

“Didn’t take you for such a conspiracy theorist,” Gwen teased.

 

“This is the guy who has secret compartments in his briefcases and calculators. Who knows what we’re going to find down here? For all we know we could find a colony of super-spiders writing poetry like Charlotte’s Web,” Peter rambled, throwing his arms up in annoyance. The nearest train was still about ten minutes along the line, and five minutes away when they found the blocked entrance to the Roosevelt line. There was a small gap in the bottom that Peter wiggled his way through, and then helped Gwen into.

 

The station was small and abandoned, blocked up nearly every way, no lockers or doors in sight. Peter hopped up onto the platform, Gwen following, and pulled a coin out of his pocket. He fed it into the coin slot and then walked through the turnstile, standing at a bricked-up wall, expecting it to part like the entrance of Diagon Alley or something.

 

Nothing happened, and Peter was just about to throw a punch that would probably break his hand when a mechanical noise started up behind him. The two turned away in awe as the track opened up and a single train carriage rose up, the lights turning on to reveal a small makeshift lab.

 

“No way,” Gwen whispered. Peter entered the carriage slowly and was immediately drawn to the monitor, where _download 100%_ was displayed in bright letters, like… like something had been transferred and had been left unopened and untouched for well over ten years.

 

Peter hit the enter key, Gwen coming to stand behind him as a command prompt lit up the screen, followed by a video file. Peter startled a little when he saw his father’s pixelated face on the screen, and felt his chest constrict as the video played, his father explaining everything that Oscorp had been doing, and then…

 

“There’s one more thing that Norman Osborn doesn’t know. The human DNA that I implanted in the spiders… was my own,” he confessed, and Peter felt Gwen’s hand tighten on his shoulder.

 

“That’s why the bite worked on you,” Gwen murmured. Peter felt the tears begin to run down his face as his father continued to talk, and then younger him yelled out for him, and the video cut off. He couldn’t do anything but stare at the screen in shock, saltwater trickling slowly down his face, Gwen’s hand grounding him.

 

“Peter…” Gwen murmured, and Peter looked up at her, vision blurry. “This is _good_ , Peter. The secret to his research is _your_ DNA, it was already implanted in the spiders as a failsafe so it didn’t kill or mutate you beyond recognition, that’s the key to all of this, that’s how we’re going to cure Harry.”

 

“Harry…” Peter breathed, remembering the reason for coming here. He took a deep breath and wiped the tears away, fingers shaking a little as he held them over the keyboard, every answer to their problems, the cure for Harry just waiting to be uncovered. Peter cleared his throat and began to type, searching through all of the files, in disbelief of the information that was before him. Gwen began to sort through the rest of the computers and equipment on the small carriage, so Peter pulled out a heavily encrypted USB and began to transfer all the necessary files over.

 

It took a few hours, a lot of digging, hypothesizing, trying to figure out equations and information and breaking codes together until they had all of the information they needed, Peter feeling like the confusion and abandonment that had been surrounding himself his entire life had just uncurled itself from around his ribcage and floated into the nothing. His parents didn’t abandon him, they left him for his own safety and to keep the world a better place, and now he could use his father’s research the way it was intended – to save lives. Or, one life in particular.

 

“I’ll drop by yours after my interview, okay?” Gwen asked, standing outside the Oxford Embassy, and Peter dragged her into a hug.

 

“Yeah. Good luck, Gwen, I know you’ll get in,” Peter said, Gwen’s excited yet nervous smile much too contagious.

 

“Thanks, Peter. Good luck with Harry,” she blessed. She kissed him lightly on the cheek and then headed into the building with tense shoulders and jittery fingers. Peter immediately hailed a cab to Oscorp tower, the receptionist letting him straight up to Harry’s office. Harry was standing with his back to Peter, staring out at the skyline of the city, a glass of scotch in one hand. Peter snuck up as quietly as he could (which was absolutely silently) and slung his arm over Harry’s shoulder. He did, of course, have to catch the glass that Harry dropped in his shock, but couldn’t help but laugh at Harry’s accusing expression.

 

“I hate you,” the older boy grumbled, and Peter gave him a shit-eating grin.

 

“No you don’t,” Peter sing-songed.

 

“Give me one reason,” Harry drawled, and Peter just produced the USB that he’d kept a tight hold of inside his pocket. Harry looked at it in shock, and Peter just nodded at his questioning expression.

 

“We’ll need to keep it on a private server,” Peter said. “I don’t trust the higher-ups of Oscorp to not take this information like they tried to fourteen years ago.”

 

“You… what?” Harry asked.

 

“I found a video file my father left. Your father made a deal with a foreign military to keep funding on the research, so my dad destroyed everything and they left, knowing that if he stayed they’d hurt me or continue on with the research,” Peter said. “They left to protect me, and the world.”

 

“Are you okay?” Harry asked. Peter couldn’t help the smile that crawled onto his face.

 

“Yeah, I am. D’you know where we can plug this in?” Peter asked, wiggling the USB a little.

 

“There’s an Oscorp research facility downtown, we can head there now,” Harry said. Peter noticed that Harry seemed particularly on edge, but he didn’t say anything as he followed him downstairs and out the front door. Harry looked around, and then grabbed Peter, dragging him around the block and through the alleyways until they’d somehow made it into the back parking lot of Oscorp.

 

“Harry, what’re you doing?” Peter asked.

 

“I’m ninety-eight percent sure that the board is going to try to take me over or fire me,” Harry admitted quietly. “They forget that privileged doesn’t mean stupid – I’ve seen them keeping tabs on me, tracking my activity through the system, and I’m also pretty sure that they’ve bugged my office, Felicia told me about a couple of people doing ‘maintenance’ on my office when I was out.”

 

“We’re not going downtown, are we?” Peter asked as they slid into a nondescript black car, Harry behind the wheel.

 

“Hell no, we’re going back to my house. We’ve got one of the most secure servers on the planet,” Harry said. Peter was impressed with Harry’s espionage skills, and flicked a quick text asking Gwen to meet them at the Osborn mansion when she was done with her interview. Harry pulled into the garage at the back of the mansion and quickly made his way through the halls into the previously out-of-bounds west wing.

 

Harry locked the study door behind them and headed to the desk, the entire surface of it an interactive holo-screen. Harry placed a strange square device on the desk, and information whirled on around it.

 

“This is what Oscorp didn’t want me to find out,” Harry said, pulling open a file listed as _Special Projects_ – apparently approved by Harry Osborn himself. Updated just over an hour ago, was a video of Max Dillon swearing to cut off the power… and to kill Spider-Man.

 

“Gwen told me that he was an Oscorp employee,” Peter said. “His name is Max Dillon, he was an electrical engineer. He had an accident, and now Oscorp is trying to cover it up.”

 

“Typical,” Harry said. “They’ve faked my clearance on this, meaning that if word of this gets out to the public, they have every reason to fire me and take over the company, meaning somebody much more morally ambiguous will take over.”

 

“We can get Gwen to give a heads-up to the police on the way here so there’ll at least be room for doubt if they do try to fire you,” Peter said, sending an incredibly long text to Gwen. As Captain Stacy’s daughter, she knew everybody at the precinct, and they’d believe her without a doubt.

 

“They’re experimenting on him,” Harry said, voice shaking. “They’re using my name to experiment on this guy. I don’t know what happened to him, I don’t care, he’s not the only one in Ravenscroft they’re torturing under my name.”

 

“We’ll figure this out, Harry,” Peter said gently, wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist. “But right now we need to get through this data and see if we can start to engineer you a cure.”

 

“Even if we have the data, we’ll still need Spider-Man’s blood as a DNA sample to base the cure off,” Harry huffed, and Peter bit his lip.

 

“Yeah… about that…” Peter muttered. Harry looked up at him, and Peter shot his arm out, using his webshooter to bring a bottle of scotch across the room without spilling a single drop. Harry froze, staring at Peter’s hand gripping the bottle, and then slowly looked Peter in the eye.

 

“You…” Harry whispered.

 

“Wear spandex and rescue cats from trees? Yeah,” Peter teased, and Harry huffed out a laugh and laid his forehead on Peter’s collarbone.

 

“I can’t believe you’re fucking Spider-Man,” Harry muttered into his chest.

 

“Excuse you! I’ll have you know that Spider-Man and I are just very close friends,” Peter replied, setting the bottle of scotch onto the table so he could wrap his arms around Harry. They were silent for a few minutes, before Harry dragged his fingertips slowly up Peter’s back, sending a shiver down his spine. Harry raised his head and Peter gulped at the darkly mischievous expression on the older boy’s face, before he found his lips captured in a filthy kiss as Harry pressed him up against the edge of the desk, stepping in between Peter’s parted legs, dragging his fingers back down Peter’s back to rest them on his thighs.

 

Harry pulled back for breath and Peter was gasping, and let out a small sound when Harry began to kiss down his jaw, his neck, sucking right at the junction between Peter’s shoulder and neck. Peter slid his hand into Harry’s hair and _may_ have used some of his super strength to haul him back up for a kiss, feeling Harry smirk against his lips.

 

“You are not playing fair, Parker,” Harry murmured, voice low and dark.

 

“Who said we were playing fair?” Peter retorted, dragging his lips down to place a wet kiss just below Harry’s ear, scraping his teeth along the skin. Peter was quite happy to bend his head down to press kisses into Harry’s skin, some a soft drag of lips and others would most likely leave a bruise.

 

“How long will those bruises stay?” Harry asked, looking at Peter's throat, voice quiet in the silence of the room.

 

“Few hours, maybe, if you did them deep enough,” Peter teased, mumbling his words into Harry’s neck. He pulled back to look at Harry’s flushed face, eyes so bright they almost glowed, lips slightly swollen and red, the beginnings of a few small bruises blooming on his skin.

 

“What brought this on?” Peter asked, leaning his forehead against Harry’s.

 

“You’re just too damn good, Parker,” Harry admitted, and Peter snorted slightly.

 

“ _You’re_ damn good,” he replied, unable to keep the innuendo unsaid. Harry huffed a laugh and punched him in the shoulder, pulling back to push his hair back into place to look a little less disheveled. It didn’t help that he was wearing a dark leather jacket that looked great in contrast to his pale skin with those purple-blue bruises forming.

 

Peter sighed but accepted that the moment was over for now, and turned around to look at the files on the desk, and plugged in the USB.

 

“The human DNA that the spiders were initially planted in the spiders was my father’s,” Peter explained. “That’s why the bite took to me – and why the venom will _only_ take to me. If we give it to you without somehow managing to reverse-engineer it, it will kill you.”

 

“All the spiders are dead, Felicia told me,” Harry said.

 

“All of the breeding information is here,” Peter said. “We figure out the formula, we reverse engineer my blood, input a new decay rate algorithm that will allow the venom to take to your DNA, breed some new spiders and hopefully, we find a cure.”

 

“That could take a long time,” Harry said.

 

“For three teenage geniuses with all of the technology in the world at our fingertips?” Peter said. “Hardly.”

 

Peter’s phone vibrated, alerting him to Gwen who was waiting outside. Harry buzzed her in and unlocked the library door, and one of the maids led her to the library within a few minutes.

 

“It’s good to finally meet you Gwen,” Harry said, holding a hand out. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

 

“I’m sure you have, he can never keep his mouth shut for very long,” Gwen teased, shaking Harry’s hand.

 

“ _Well_ …” Harry trailed off with a suggestively raised eyebrow, and Peter blushed as Gwen laughed.

 

“You figured out that particular trick too huh?” she asked with a grin.

 

“I figured him out a long time ago,” Harry said, leading Gwen over to the desk where the data floated around the desk, just waiting for its mysteries to be uncovered.

 

“How’d the interview go?” Peter asked.

 

“Great!” Gwen gushed. “I think I’ve got a pretty good chance of getting the scholarship. I stopped past the precinct on the way back and let Captain Ramirez know about the whole Oscorp situation, including the whole attempted cover-up of Max’s accident. I’ve known him since before I could walk, I’m pretty sure he’s gonna be able to halt proceedings if they do try to get Harry fired.”

 

“That’s great news, Gwen, and thank you,” Peter said gratefully. He was just about to say more when the ground shook and all the power went out in a burst. The trio turned to look out the window as the power grid slowly turned off, every single light in the city turning off one by one.

 

“Max,” Gwen breathed.

 

“Looks like work is calling,” Peter said, already halfway into his suit.

 

“He’ll be at the new power station,” Harry said, still staring out the window at the blacked-out skyline of New York. “He designed everything and Oscorp took his designs, not giving him a single cent or even acknowledgement. He was halfway through a lawsuit when he had his accident.”

 

“Peter, you can’t go alone,” Gwen said, practically reading his mind.

 

“Well you two can’t come with me!” Peter argued. “This guy is dangerous, he is _literally_ a super villain, he’s not just a bunch of thugs trying to steal chemicals or a bank robbery gone wrong. He’s like nothing we’ve ever seen.”

 

“Which is exactly why you are not going alone, Peter,” Gwen said, grabbing his arm. “Besides, weren’t your webshooters fried last time you went up against him? Did you figure out a solution to that yet?”

 

“I- no,” Peter admitted.

 

“Have you tried magnetizing them?” Harry drawled. “That’s like, eighth-grade science dude.”

 

“We need a jumper cable and some copper wire,” Gwen said, dragging Peter out of the room. Peter sighed and followed behind her as he was helplessly dragged out of the building, Harry smirking from behind. Gwen set up the jumper leads onto the car, and in a quick burst they’d magnetized his webshooters.

 

“Thanks, and sorry for this,” Peter said, quickly webbing both of them to the car. He swooped in to press a quick kiss to Harry’s lips and Gwen’s cheek before swinging himself away. Harry sighed once he was gone and pulled out a switchblade from his pocket, slicing the webbing on both his and Gwen’s hands.

 

“He is not going there alone,” Harry muttered.

 

“What’s your plan?” Gwen asked, looking out at the dark skyline.

 

“We’ll get to the power grid as fast as possible, but first I’ve got to make a stop off at Oscorp,” Harry said with a dangerous grin.

 

Across the harbour, lights flashed and metallic noises rang out into the dark night.

 

*

 

Peter fell to the ground yet again, seizing, entirely sure that all of his organs had been reduced to sludge, feeling the electricity slice through his veins, mostly unsure how he was still alive. He grumbled to himself and hauled himself up yet again, stumbling slightly, instinct getting him out of the way of Max’s lighting strikes (or Electro, _whatever_ ). He didn’t really have a plan any more than see if he could drown him in water, but apparently Max wasn’t entirely corporeal anymore and had gone completely insane with no sign of the kind, quiet man he’d been.

 

Peter had the time to think that Max was his first real super villain before he was struck in the chest and thrown back a few hundred feet, slamming into one of the power coils. Peter tried to think logically about electricity, but he was always slammed with said electricity whenever he’d been on his feet long enough to gain half a conscious thought.

 

He was in the middle of hauling his twitching, numb-with-pain body up, once more, before a sound caught his attention. A sort of engine, more repulsor-sounding than anything, and then are _you fucking kidding me_ Harry came literally flying onto the scene, Gwen gripping onto him in a death grip, pale but determined. Harry dropped her off at the door to the control station, and careened straight into Max, who went flying back.

 

“What the hell, Harry,” Peter said, too shocked and too bruised (and possibly made of jello, the debate was still out on that) to inject any sort of emotion into his voice.

 

“Looked like you could use some help, Parker,” Harry teased like the little shit he was. Peter idly noticed that he looked much better. His skin wasn't as pale and the deep circles under his eyes had receded.

 

“What the hell is that and where the hell did you get it?” Peter asked as Harry glided over and helped him off the floor.

 

“Newest tech, courtesy of Oscorp. Gwen and I may have threatened Mr. Menken. With a gun, and science,” Harry said with a grin that was entirely too happy for him to be talking about threatening the man who was vying with him for control over his company.

 

“You’re insane,” Peter noted.

 

“Maybe, but what would you have done if we hadn’t arrived? Just keep getting shocked like a lab rat with a shock collar?” Harry said, eyes snapping over to where Max was pulling himself out of the coil he’d been slammed into.

 

“I would’ve come up with something,” Peter protested weakly.

 

“You’re lucky Gwen and I can do all the thinking for you,” Harry said.

 

“I think I would’ve preferred it if you two hated each other,” Peter sighed, gearing up for another round with Max.

 

“We bonded over all of our techniques to get you to shut up,” Harry teased. “Or… keep talking.”

 

“I hate you so much,” Peter said, feeling himself blush underneath the mask. He had absolutely no doubts about what Harry managed to get up to in an all-boys boarding school, and considering that _look_ that he gave Peter…

 

“You love me,” Harry grinned. “We’re going to overload him like a battery. I’ll distract him, you web up the main power line, Gwen’s at the switch.” Harry pressed a kiss to Peter’s masked forehead, then flew away, straight towards Max, putting on some ridiculous fake maniacal laugh to get his attention. Harry had always been fond of acting.

 

Peter swung his way throughout the maze of coils as fast and as stealthily as possible, arriving at one of the power lines he’d managed to slam Max into earlier in their fight. He saw Gwen standing at the ready in the control tower, who gave him a quick thumbs up in between her stifled laughter at whatever the fuck weird shit Harry was doing. Pretentious theatre asshole.

 

Peter webbed the sparking circuits together, holding each collection of threads in his hands, and yelled out for Harry. Within seconds, Harry was zooming past, Max in quick pursuit. Harry gave the signal when Max was in position and Peter connected the webs in his hands as Gwen hit the switch. Peter felt the beginning of the impossibly huge amount of energy surge through his arms before Harry swooped in and grabbed him, pulling him away to safety as Max screamed, the power too much for him as he exploded, blue and orange sparks fading into the night air.

 

Peter sagged into Harry’s arms, the opposite of that meeting room in Oscorp tower, and let him carry his weight, strength reinforced with whatever suit he was in. The words _healing protocol activated_ glowed in green on one of the arms – a temporary solution, but it explained why Harry suddenly had colour in his cheeks and looked healthy.

 

They watched as the power came on all around the city, two planes overhead veering drastically to miss each other, and Peter felt his heartbeat finally slow down as Harry landed them outside the control tower where Gwen was waiting.

 

“This is why you need us,” Gwen said matter-of-factly.

 

“Whatever Ms Oxford,” Peter slurred, exhausted and in way too much pain to come up with anything truly worthy of the Spider-Man sass. “I’m tired. I guess that’s what happens when you get shocked with like a billion volts of electricity.”

 

“You’re _welcome_ ,” Gwen said pointedly, and Peter waved a hand.

 

“Don’t mention it,” Peter said, and Gwen rolled her eyes but her lips were twitching up in a smile.

 

“Harry, you make sure he gets home, I’ll call Aunt May and let her know that he’s okay and that he’s staying over at yours. Meanwhile, I’m going to go back to the precinct and make sure that Mr. Menken is having fun in custody while I testify against him and Oscorp’s board of directors,” Gwen said matter-of-factly.

 

“You’re way too good for him,” Harry said slowly, smiling in that way that only Harry Osborn could.

 

“I know,” Gwen said with a grin. “We’ll start working on your cure tomorrow.” With that, Harry gripped Peter tighter as they ascended up into the air, Gwen making her way back to the car. Peter assumed he must’ve dozed off or passed out on the flight/journey/whatever back to the Osborn mansion, because he jolted awake when they touched down onto Harry’s balcony.

 

Harry stepped off the glider and hauled Peter inside, dropping him onto the massive California king that Peter very nearly immediately fell asleep on. Harry sighed and turned him onto his back and pulled off his mask. Peter opened his eyes and grinned sheepishly at Harry, knowing that he had mask-hair and cuts and bruises littering his face.

 

Harry only rolled his eyes and resumed trying to pry Peter out of the tight-fitting costume that he usually had trouble with taking off standing up, let alone lying down.

 

“Trying to get me out of my clothes already, eh, Osborn?” Peter slurred, and Harry laughed.

 

“I’m not exactly sure they count as _clothes_ , Peter, not when they’re goddamn painted on,” Harry teased, still not above copping a feel of Peter’s ass when he tried to pull the bottom half of the suit off. “You’ll thank me tomorrow when you still have blood flow in your extremities.” Harry finally wrestled the suit off and tucked it under the bed, and Peter rolled back over onto his stomach, splaying out on the sheets, the cool night air lovely on his bruised body. He probably looked a bit like a slut all splayed out in just his boxer briefs, but he didn’t really care as he sunk into the single most glorious mattress he’d ever had the luck to lie on.

 

He was almost asleep when a warm body pulled him closer, and Peter managed to wrap his limbs around Harry like an octopus before he fell into a coma-like sleep.

 

It was just under five months later when Gwen Stacy gave the thumbs up on their video chat, and the first human trial of _aranaeus oscorpus_ went underway for the first time in over twenty years.

 

Harry Osborn had colour in his cheeks for the first time without the Goblin suit, and his smile was brighter than Peter had ever seen before as he covered it with a kiss, with Gwen making soft retching noises in the background.

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> **> >> Fanfiction commissions are open! If you liked my writing and you're interested in me writing something for you, click [HERE](http://tricksterity.tumblr.com/post/140544637431) for more information! **


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